


a broken piece of what we used to be

by Cerusee



Series: the loose ends will make knots [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Forever Evil (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Robin Rises
Genre: Broose why :(, Bruce continues to fail to adequately apologize for that, Gen, I have a feeling I'm going to get yelled at over the ending, I hit Jason with a truck, Jason is wrong about a lot of shit but it's understandable given the circumstances, Jason's still feeling pretty salty about that Ethiopia thing again, Self-Esteem Issues, canon sucks, he's having a bad week all around, lots o' hurt some comfort, then I hit him with feelings, unfortunately this is canon-based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 18:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14939582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerusee/pseuds/Cerusee
Summary: This time, when he opened his eyes, he managed to keep them open long enough to register that he wasn’t in the Cave anymore, and that Bruce was sitting in the chair by the bed.  Jason tried to move, and he could feel a hand in his.When he was thirteen, the sight of Bruce by his side, the feel of Bruce’s hand squeezing his own, when he woke up like this—it had made him feel warm and safe.Jason wasn’t thirteen anymore.





	a broken piece of what we used to be

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a follow-up to [Barbarians](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837420/chapters/34341638), based on a conversation with Audrey about the reasoning that leads Jason to dismiss himself and the other Batkids who aren't Damian as "just sidekicks"...and the conclusions Jason might draw if Bruce tried to dissuade Jason of that belief.

“Careful,” Ivy said, circling around him. “You wouldn’t want to make me angry.”

“I don’t,” the Red Hood said, hand on his unbuttoned holster, turning to keep her firmly within his sight as she moved. “And yet, somehow...I _do_.”

“Why are you here?” Ivy asked. “What business could we possibly have together?”

“There’s this funny little drug that’s turned up on the corners,” he said. “I hear the frat boys call it Smooth, ‘cause it _smooths_ their way with the ladies. And for once, I don’t think Park Row was where it started. It’s a bleed-over from the _nice_ parts of town. It’s the hottest new date-rape drug around, Pamela, and as far as I can tell, you’re the sole manufacturer.”

Ivy shrugged. “I’ve been a little cash-poor, lately. I have needs. Goals. A purpose.”

“Do you have the faintest idea what people have been using your shit to do?”

“No,” Ivy said. “And I don’t care.” She whirled around and blew a cloud of powder towards the Red Hood, who let it swirl around his helmet, never moving.

“This mask has a filter, you know.” he said, plainly.

“Oh,” Ivy said. “Hmm. Well, it only needs to be in your bloodstream, so—”

He felt a sudden surge of pain through his arm, and everything _stopped_.

***

Jason crawled back towards awareness. He didn’t really want to, but there was something important there, waiting for him.

Oh god oh god _oh god_ everything hurt, _so much_. His head was the furious and unceasing gong of a bell, his chest was knives, and he dimly thought he might have been stabbed at some point. Somewhere. He was probably going to have to figure that out. He might need stitches so he didn’t bleed to death. _Food for thought_.

He opened his eyes, and straight up above was black. Round his peripheral vision, there were lights. 

And Jason knew where he was.

 _Not a-fucking-gain_ , he thought, before he passed out.

***

Jason blinked awake again. Things were gloriously hazy, and he realized, with a distant sort of resentment, that he was on some _major_ painkillers. He opened his mouth to express his opinion about that. 

“Whoever you are, you should know that Poison Ivy drugged me with some kind of mind-control thing, so please don’t mix medications while I’m getting over that, okay?”

Well. That was what it was in his _head_. Jason wasn’t sure how many syllables of it he actually managed to vocalize, or in what order.

There was a hand smoothing his hair back from his forehead, another hand holding his. “Shh,” someone said. “Go back to sleep. You have to rest.”

And he did.

***

This time, when he opened his eyes, he managed to keep them open long enough to register that he wasn’t in the Cave anymore, and that Bruce was sitting in the chair by the bed. Jason tried to move, and he could feel a hand in his.

When he was thirteen, the sight of Bruce by his side, the feel of Bruce’s hand squeezing his own, when he woke up like this—it had made him feel warm and safe.

Jason wasn’t thirteen anymore.

He slipped his hand out of Bruce’s, and Bruce’s eyes flew open. “Jay.” he said, softly. He looked...relieved. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Jason mumbled. He tried to open up his lungs. Breathing was suddenly his least favorite thing to do. But needs must. He tried to take in a deeper breath, and suddenly his chest was on fire, and he didn’t think breathing again was going to happen.

“You did,” Bruce told him. “Don’t try to move. You have six fractured ribs.”

“ _Hooray_ ,” Jason said.

Bruce was up, and signaling someone—Jason didn’t know if was Alfred or—no. Had to be Alfred. Who else was left?

“I’m sorry you’re in pain, Jay,” Bruce said, taking Jason’s hand again, as if for some reason he was under the impression Jason would _want_ that. “We had you on painkillers at first, you see, but then you...you didn’t wake up. For _three days_ , Jason. We did a blood sample, and we found an unknown substance in your system. We didn’t want to risk an adverse reaction.” His face grew anxious. “We were concerned we might already have created an adverse physiological reaction.”

“Good call,” Jason said, gritting his teeth.

Fuckin’ Poison Ivy. She’d stabbed him with something laced with her goddamn mind-control angel dust—knife, or a vine; he wasn’t sure, hadn’t seen it coming. And then she’d told him to go play in traffic.

And he had.

“Dammit—” he groaned. “Ivy. Drugged me. Smooth.”

“I’m sure it was,” Bruce said, with a touch of irony.

“No. _Smooth._ New drug. Makes the vic follow commands.” Like to walk straight into the path of an oncoming car. Or…to _go to sleep_. No wonder. He’d obeyed the last instruction he’d been given, to sleep, until that crap was finally out of his system and the compulsion had worn off.

Jason mentally vowed to torch Ivy’s lab, and possibly Robinson Park. Maybe with Ivy in it. Just as soon as he could manage anything but the shallowest of breaths.

Meanwhile, he needed to get to a safehouse. The last time he’d ended up recuperating in the Manor, things hadn’t ended well. He and Bruce were currently in detente, but he didn’t want to stick around and go through that whole thing again, giving in to the impulse to _trust_ , letting himself be persuaded that he had a place here, a place next to Bruce. Only to have it all turn out to be a convenient fiction.

Jason scrabbled at the IV drip in his other hand, trying to pull it out.

Bruce reached across the bed and pulled Jason’s hand away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting out of here,” Jason ground out.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t care that you don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“In addition to those ribs, you have a concussion, Jason—”

With a burst of energy fueled by willpower and irritation, Jason swung his legs over the side of the bed where Bruce wasn’t.

Unfortunately, they’d apparently missed an injury when they were checking him out, because as soon as Jason tried to put weight on his feet, his right ankle went out underneath him, and he collapsed to the ground. He couldn’t hold back a cry of pain at what that did to his ribs, and for a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe at all, and just lay on the ground, shuddering in agony.

It was long enough for Bruce to come over to his side of the bed and help him to his feet, oh so gently, and deposit him back on the bed. Jason didn’t even try to fight.

“Must be a sprain,” Bruce muttered. “Alfred didn’t see anything on the X-rays.”

As if summoned by the sound of his name, Alfred appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of various medical items. “I thought I heard a cry,” he said anxiously.

“ _Someone_ thought it would be a good idea to get out of bed,” Bruce said pointedly.

“I can’t imagine who ever modeled such stubborn and counterproductive behavior for him when he was an impressionable child,” Alfred replied.

“ _Ffffffffuuuuuu_ ” Jason said faintly, from the bed.

“Master Jason,” Alfred said sternly. “Please try to rest. I’ve brought painkillers, now that you’ve awoken, and you’re to take them.”

Jason mulled the idea of refusing. Alfred would probably stealth drug him if he did; Jason had seen him do it to Bruce on multiple occasions. And that fall had _hurt_. “Fine,” he said. “But no more morphine.”

“No more morphine,” Alfred promised, pressing pills into one of Jason’s hands, and a glass of water into the other.

Jason swallowed the pills reluctantly and with some effort. 

“I’ll make you something light,” Alfred said. “You’ve been on a glucose IV for three days, and you need to eat something.”

Whether it was the water stimulating his dormant digestive tract, or the thought of food, Jason suddenly realized that he was _starving_ , and he nodded eagerly, then winced and closed his eyes as the motion brought sudden stabbing pain to his head. Fortunately, the not-morphine Alfred had dosed him with was potent, and after a few minutes the pain from his assorted truck-induced injuries started to settle into a dull background ache. He didn’t fall asleep, but he did relax into a sort of doze.

The hand was back, gently stroking Jason’s hair back from his forehead, and Jason opened his eyes to see a tender look on Bruce’s face.

He hated it.

“Why do you _do_ that?” Jason whined.

“Why do I do what?” Bruce asked, confused.

“Why do you keep pretending to…” Jason trailed off. _Care about me. Love me. Want me around._

“I’m not _pretending_ to anything, Jason.”

“Not falling for this again, Bruce,” Jason said, closing his eyes again so he didn’t have to look at that face, although the peaceful dozy feeling dissipated as resentment bubbled up in his wounded chest. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want up front this time, so I can tell you to go fuck yourself in advance. You can skip the priming stage.”

“What are you—” Bruce sounded bewildered. There was a long, long pause. “You can’t actually think I was—” 

“Funny,” Jason said dryly, opening his eyes again. “I can. I do.”

“You think,” and Bruce’s voice was harsh, now, “you think that staying with you after the Joker’s attack, wanting to finally make things right between us—you think that I was just _pretending_ to be concerned about you so you’d follow me to Ethiopia, is that it?”

“That’s _exactly_ what I think,” Jason snapped.

“I was there because I _care_ about you, Jason! Ethiopia...that had _nothing_ to do with wanting to fix things with you.”

“The fuck you—if you _cared_ about me, you never would have taken me back there, you asshole!” Yelling was a bridge too far; Jason’s chest spasmed and his head dropped back against the pillow, eyes clenched tight and teeth gritted until the spasm passed and the edge of pain receded to something bearable again. “You fucking triggered me. And you did it on _purpose_. Even if I believed you when you say you care, and I’m damn well not sure I do, all that means is that you were willing to turn straight around and take advantage of my trust. That you were willing to throw it all away the second you had it again.”

“ _I know_ ,” Bruce said bleakly. “I know it wasn’t right. But I was desperate. You know that.”

“What I know, Bruce, is that when _I_ died, you buried me and walked away. You had a new partner in less than a year, while I was still rotting in my grave. When Damian—when your precious, irreplaceable _son_ died, you _so thoroughly lost your shit_ that you were willing to fuck up every other relationship in your life, to do anything, no matter how insane or destructive, to get him back. It doesn’t take a fucking manual.”

“ _You’re_ my son, too, Jason,” Bruce said vehemently.

“I was your _project_. A project you screwed up! It’s too bad; you must have had really high hopes, after how well the first one turned out—”

Bruce’s face darkened. “Don’t talk about your brother like that—” 

“He’s not my brother,” Jason said, tightly. “Neither is the demon brat. You’re not my family, none of you are, and this is not my home.”

Bruce stood abruptly, and stalked away from the bed, back turned to Jason, fists clenched at his side. “Why,” he said to the wall, through what sounded like gritted teeth, “will you not see how important you are to me?”

“I _do_ see how how important I am to you, Bruce,” Jason told him wearily. “I know you’re not always so great with the talking. Dick always—” a sudden wave of feeling came rushing through him, and he had to blink several times. “Dick always said if I was trying to figure out what you were thinking, to pay attention to the things you did, not the things you said. And I did. And I am. And it’s pretty clear, based on the choices you’ve made, that I am not, and never have been, your priority.”

Bruce made an inarticulate noise of frustration, and tilted his head back, as if looking at the ceiling. He turned around and came back over to the bed, sitting down very precisely, clearly struggling to keep his body language under control. “When you died,” Bruce said evenly, “I felt like my world had ended again. I no longer knew how to exist in it.” His eyes screwed shut. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.”

Did Bruce actually mean—there must be some part of Jason that was still Robin, after all this time, because a little voice inside him cried out, _don’t say that!_

How could it be, that hearing Bruce say that hurt him so much, after everything? Between then and now, there was a time when Jason had wanted Bruce _dead_ , had wanted to kill him himself; a time when Bruce’s continued existence filled him with rage and despair. When the knowledge that they inhabited the same world, but Bruce was forever out of reach had tortured him every waking minute. Despite that, hearing Bruce admit that he might once have wanted to die shook Jason to the core. 

Maybe it was the meds on an empty stomach, or the hunger of a stomach that had been empty for days, but he was swept by a sudden and intense wave of nausea. He realized there was no way he was going to be able to quell it in time, and he gestured frantically at Bruce, who blinked, and then dove for a garbage can next to the bed, getting it under Jason’s chin just in time. 

Man, this was going to _suck_.

Up came the water, and a little bit of bile, and then it was just dry heaves that went on for far too long, and every second of it was torture, so much worse than the fall had been. His face was streaked with tears and sweat and snot, by the end of it. Jesus, he’d had gunshot wounds that were less painful than this.

Bruce’s free arm was wrapped around Jason’s shoulder, and Jason couldn’t stop himself from sinking back into the touch, as the heaving finally subsided; couldn’t stop himself from finding it comforting. “ _Shit_ ,” he whispered.

“Shallow breaths,” Bruce instructed him. “There you go. You’re going to be all right, Jay-lad.” He helped Jason ease back against the pillows. There went the hand again, stroking his hair. Jason wondered if Bruce even knew he did that.

“Losing you...almost destroyed me,” Bruce said, his voice thick with emotion in a way Jason was no longer accustomed to hearing from Bruce. He was so much colder, now, than he’d been before. Jason knew he deserved it for coming back so _wrong_ , but it still hurt. “You haunted me, every day.” He visibly swallowed. “But we didn’t _know_ , back then, that the veil between life and death was so— _permeable_. That it can be crossed from both directions, if you can only find a way. Jason, the only reason I didn’t try to bring you back because _I didn’t know it could be done_.”

“Bull,” Jason croaked. 

Because before all this, Jason would have said there was nobody in the world who meant more to Bruce than Dick Grayson. Dick was the child Bruce had raised all the way to adulthood; Batman’s first and forever-favorite partner; his pride and joy. There was no one in the world, save Alfred, more devoted to Bruce than Dick was, that Bruce relied on more. Jason had seethed with jealousy sometimes, seeing how much Dick meant to Bruce while Jason had become nothing more than an ugly afterthought. Hated the thought that Dick _deserved_ to have that, more than Jason did.

But the facts spoke for themselves. Dick was still in his grave. Damian wasn’t. (Neither was Jason, but Bruce had had no hand in _that_ ; indeed, he’d very nearly put Jason back in it). Bruce hadn’t acted when Jason died. He hadn’t acted when Dick died. But Damian’s death had driven him into a frenzy even though he’d barely even _known_ the kid; even though Damian had been as tainted as Jason was now. Biology trumped everything else, trumped the bonds of love and loyalty Bruce had supposedly shared with the ones who’d come before. 

Damian was the blood son, and blood was what mattered.

“No,” Bruce said intensely. “I _would_ have done it for you, if I’d known it was possible. Believe me, Jason, I would do it for _any_ of you. I’m done losing people.”

Bruce had a magnificent capacity for bullshit, and if that recent jaunt to Ethiopia had proved anything, it was that Jason wasn’t as good at spotting it as he liked to think, but there was something fierce in his look that felt _real_ to Jason. Something that made Jason almost believe him, even with the glaring contradiction posed by a dead Nightwing.

Unless—

_Oh._

The realization hit him with more force than ten trucks combined.

“You lying, manipulative, goddamn absolute fucking _son of a bitch_ ,” Jason snarled. “Where is he, Bruce?” A sudden surge of adrenaline wiped out his pain and exhaustion, and he found himself launching off the bed at Bruce, to his clear startlement. “Where is he? _Where’s Dick?!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow look at it I fixed nothing absolutely nothing.


End file.
